


History Repeats Itself

by les_jupiter



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Trauma, author projecting onto tommyinnit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28124364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/les_jupiter/pseuds/les_jupiter
Summary: Tommy's new chapter of his exile, feat. remnants of the previous ones.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	History Repeats Itself

Tommyinnit is no longer an exile.

Tommyinnit is a  _ runaway  _ and he hasn’t been this fucking happy in a long time. 

He quite likes the term runaway. It’s so much better than exile, a word that he had gotten far too used to by the second time it had happened, when he was still preoccupied with covering up his wounds under wide smiles and messy hair.

Now he rips off the bandaid and feels almost elated.

Despite the lack of any real walls trapping him inside Logstedshire (other than the ones that Dream had placed there, trapping Tommy inside his own mind and in his stupid cage), he felt like someone had given him the key to everything. He supposed it was there all along and he felt rather idiotic for letting Dream break him down like that, but there was no use worrying about that now.

After all, he was sided with Technoblade now.

One thing he noticed about living with Techno was how warm things were. Despite his place on the beach, the days of his exile were marked by a cold atmosphere that settled over him, causing him to shiver even in warm weather. Techno’s home was quite the opposite. Despite being in the midst of a frozen tundra, the torchlight and hearth lit up the place and warmed it up considerably. 

Another thing he’d noticed is how loud it was. Back in Logstedshire, at the moments when Ghostbur and Dream were nowhere to be found, he would be left completely and utterly alone with his thoughts. The silence swallowed him whole, a hungry shark that had gotten a whiff of blood, dragging Tommy deeper into his thoughts. But here, there was always some sort of distance noise in the background, whether it be the chittering sounds of endermen or the quiet, mechanical whirring of distant redstone. It was oddly comforting.

He was thankful that Techno let him stay in his den, which he had gotten rather attached to. Gone were the blank, uninviting walls of his old tent, and in their place were sturdy walls of stone decorated a little eclectically with old photos and scribbled-on signs. Tommy carefully took out the pins holding one of the pictures in place, making eye contact with his younger self, who was wearing the old L’Manberg military uniform and waving at the camera. In the background, Niki puts up a peace sign and Wilbur is shaking his head, trying and failing to hide the grin on his face. 

Tommy’s chest aches looking at it.

He places the photograph back on the wall in its rightful spot, rolling over to face the other side of his bed before standing up and pulling on his shoes. His white sneaker had lost it’s pair, so he made do with a mismatched iron boot he’d stolen from a chest when he’d first arrived. He also grabbed a spare iron helmet from one of the chests in the corner of the room. Walking over to the ladder, he pulled himself up over the rungs, arms ever sore from chopping down wood.

When feet finally found their way to solid ground he pulled on a coat, the dark brown edges slightly singed and soot staining the sleeves, tainting the L’Manberg patch sown haphazardly into the soft fabric. It existed only as a reminder of a long-forgotten era. He knew he should probably get rid of it, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.

The coat proved to be useful though as Tommy stepped outside, cold biting at his fingertips and his face, causing tears to prick at the corner of his eyes as he squinted to look through the snowflakes falling around him. He shielded his face with one hand, awkwardly stumbling through the the frigid terrain to reach a forest of coniferous trees. The dark green of the pine needles stuck out against stark white, and gnarled brown roots pricked at the surface of the snow. 

Tommy took out an axe and started to swing.

\- - -

Tommy looked up at the sunset in the distance, narrowing his eyes to take in the view of the entire snowy biome glowing a deep red.  _ It’s nice,  _ he thought while trying to ignore the numbness in his hands from exposure to the cold. As he begins to trek home (Home. That’s weird to think about, the fact that he considers the place home now.), the weight of the lumber he had gathered heavy in his arms, he begins to wonder absently if Techno is home yet. He gets his answer when he opens the door to the inviting smell of cooking on a furnace.

“Techno?” He calls, dropping the wood at the front door. 

Almost immediately, his brother rounds the corner, wearing reading glasses and a stricken look on his face.

“Woah, what hap-”

“Tommy, oh my god, where the hell have you been? It’s been literally hours.” Techno says, loudly closing the book that rested in his hands.  _ The Art of War,  _ the cover reads.

“Calm down. I was just out chopping wood, and I…” Tommy gestures awkwardly with his hands. “I lost track of time, I guess.”

Techno shakes his head. “You don’t have any idea how long it’s been, do you? Literal hours. I was thinking about callin’ Phil, I thought something happened to you.” The man’s voice increased in volume, full of frustration.

Tommy backs up half a step, instinctively wrenching the iron helmet off of his head and throwing it at Techno’s feet. The sudden sound seemed to almost startle Techno out of his anger, and he looked at Tommy cautiously. Like the way someone looks at a hurt animal. Tommy gulped as he realized what had just happened.

“Tommy. Why did you do that?” 

“I-” The younger choked on his words mid-sentence. “I don’t know.”

God, Dream had really fucked him up, huh?

He glanced at the iron helmet, which now rested at Techno’s feet. He knew why he’d done it: it was what he was conditioned to do whenever someone was angry at him. His hands clenched into fists, not in anger but in frustration at himself: Why did he still let that maniac have power over him? Why did he flinch whenever someone raised their voice at him? Why did that green bastard’s words cling to his chest like moths to a flame, tearing their way through his ribs and eating him up inside. It was pathetic. Back when he’d fled Logstedshire, he had declared that he wasn’t going to listen to Dream anymore, but here he was, back where he started. Square fucking one.

Tommy felt a gentle hand on his shoulder pull him softly into a hug, his face meeting the soft and inviting fabric of Techno’s sweater. The self-hatred that had flared up in him quieted down as he let his brother pull him into an embrace, embarrassingly gentle and cautious for a champion of the blood god. He ran his hand over his face, wiping away the tears that he hadn’t realized were falling.

How long had it been since someone had hugged him?

Certainly since before his exile; Dream barely gave him the time of day, forget any form of affection. The more he thought about Dream’s actions during their “friendship” the more he cursed himself for not realizing sooner.

He’ll give Past-Tommy the benefit of the doubt, though.  “ _ Oh, the things we invent when we are scared and want to be rescued _ .” That’s a quote from something, he thinks.

But for now, he just closes his eyes for a second and forgets for a second that there were ever any wars or executions, hoping that the blood will wash from his hands and from his mind. It won’t, but thinking it will never hurt anyone, did it?

After a moment, Techno backed away, expression stern.

“Tell no one about that or I will punt you.”

Tommy laughed, cringed to himself at how strained his voice was. 

“If you can catch me, dickhead.”

\- - -

Tommy practically collapsed onto his cot, sighing from exhaustion. After a bowl of mushroom stew and a much-needed break from the cold, the pain in his limbs was replaced by tiredness and contentment. 

It was weird, he will admit. After holding such hatred for Techno after what he did, he found it hard to forgive. He wasn’t sure he ever would. But he had lost one too many brothers before he had the chance to fix their relationship, and he sure as hell wasn’t doing that again. His time with Techno reminded him of the childhood he’d left behing far too quickly, one where his family were alive and happy and all in one piece. And maybe that would never happen again. But it didn’t hurt to mend what was left.

After dinner, Techno had promised in a low voice not to raise his voice at Tommy. Although he usually hated being pitied, it was a welcome change to the detached apathy he had grown so used to in his companions. And besides, this didn’t feel like pity.

He wondered to himself if the scars Dream had left him with would ever go away. Maybe he would always be shattered, a glass boy thrown to the ground one time too many to ever resemble what he once was. He would never again be that boy in the photograph, the one who felt like a complete stranger to him now. 

Did it really matter, though? Sure, maybe things wouldn’t be the way they were before. But that didn’t mean that they weren’t going to change. To get better. Hell, they already had. So what if his pieces didn’t fit back together exactly the way they used to?

They still fit and that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> whoops turns out im incapable of making a Tommy-centric fit without projecting lol  
> also you can pry Good Older Brother™ Techno out of my cold dead hands
> 
> quote from richard siken  
> also the first sentences' format is kind of a callback to my other fic, which you can find here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28105428


End file.
